“You can’t force me to agree to any of this.”
“I wouldn’t dream of forcing a woman to do anything.” His expression was dark, his slow smile lethal. “If you don’t like the terms and you don’t want the money after all, then…walk away.”
“This is monstrous!”
“This is a business deal that’s very much skewed in your favor, so you’d be advised to stop complaining and hand in your notice here immediately.”
“I can’t! I have to give a month’s notice. I’ll lose my reference—”
“Then I’ll sort this little problem out for you too as we have no time to waste. I’m astonishingly kind after all, don’t you think?”
“You’re mad.”
“And once we’ve dealt with Antonella I need to pay someone a visit, tell him our good news. He’ll be so pleased…”
“So you have at least two friends?”
“This one’s more of an acquaintance. The guy who bet me I’d never settle down and marry before I was thirty.” He laughed to himself. “Want to come along for the ride, or wait until the big day before you meet?”
“I’ll pass on that.”
Ricardo turned his head to look at her and smiled like he’d been injected with Botox—cold and without genuine expression. “Of course…you’re still employed to clear up Antonella’s mess until I secure your release, aren’t you? You’d better be a good girl and get all this stuff to the kitchen then.” He flicked a hand towards a congealed-looking Margarita. “It’s attracting flies.”
.
Helen watched a mosquito hover around the mirror for a few seconds, and as soon as it strayed over the tiled bathroom backsplash she swatted it with the back of her hand. She noticed that cold bathrooms had a certain smell to them, and a silent, still aura. A sanctuary. But only for a few moments. Ricardo was waiting for her to join him and the Condesa by the pool. Bloody Marys at eleven with pimento almonds. The Condesa loved that ritual. Sometimes it was cashews and Fino sherry, but always at eleven once the hairdresser had finished and left.
Helen would have preferred to do the whole resignation thing alone, but her reason for leaving was so preposterous, so bizarre, she didn’t think the Condesa would believe her. Ricardo could deal with the utter insanity of their deal. He was presumably unhinged enough to pull it off without a second thought. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror just as she had the day before. She looked the same, yet harder, as if liquid steel had been injected into her veins. A glaze of ice had layered over her eyes. She had sold her soul to the devil with this fake marriage deal, but she had no choice if she was to save everything she had ever loved. There were mirrors all over the villa, like eyes, windows into the soul asking who was the fairest of them all? There was no question—Antonella, the wicked witch. Only sycophants need apply for Helen’s job once she’d gone.
“Oh, there you are!” the Condesa said in a sing-songy voice when Helen approached the pool. “But empty handed?”
“Er, yes.”
“But it’s eleven o’clock, dear.”
“Yes, I know but—”
“We have something to tell you, Antonella,” Ricardo said with a voice so calm it made her shiver. He did “in control” so well. He’d be a terrifying enemy. Maybe that was why her heart was pounding so hard. She didn’t need another enemy. She didn’t need a husband, either, except…bizarrely, now she did.
“Something to tell me?” Her tanned crepe chin wobbled as she twisted a string of pearls between her fingers. “Intriguing…”
“Helen and I are to be married, so she will be leaving your employ with immediate effect.”
The Condesa rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes to the sky and made an inelegant snorting noise. “How preposterous.”
“Make no mistake, madrastra,” Ricardo replied, his voice diamond hard. “We are engaged. We will be married quickly. There will be minimal fuss.”
“Fuss?” The Condesa’s black eyebrows arched like a cat stretching. “You’re an internationally renowned Lothario, you stupid boy. Of course there will be fuss! And speculation…”
“I can deal with that.”
“I would ask whether your new fiancée is with child, but considering you only met yesterday—”
“I’m not pregnant,” Helen said. “We’ve not even—”
“We’ve not even set a firm date or venue.” Ricardo took Helen’s hand in his. “And I need to ask her father for her hand, so we’d appreciate your discretion for now.”
“My discretion?” The Condesa blinked and took a long breath before fixing Helen with a cold stare. “Naturally, discretion.”
“Excellent. So would you like me to replace your Girl Thursday, or is that something you’d like to arrange yourself?”
“I’m not senile if that’s what you’re inferring. What I need right now is a Bloody Mary.”
“Perhaps I can fix it for you one last time?” Helen shot Ricardo a pleading look.
“That would be most welcome.” The Condesa sent a sharp glance in Ricardo’s direction. “You’ve just perfected the mix. I’d appreciate it.”
Ricardo paused, took his phone from his pocket and checked it before saying, “Very well. I have an important call to make anyway. Say your farewells. Helen, I’ll be in the car when you’re finished.”
He turned on his heel and the two women watched him disappear through a stone arch in the direction of the courtyard where his car was parked.
The Condesa’s voice had an edge to it Helen hadn’t heard before. “Do you think you can handle him, Helen?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I’ll have to.”
“You’re smart. I think you probably can if you want to badly enough.”
“You must be shocked.”
The Condesa shrugged. “For a moment I was, but then I remembered he’s just like his father—impetuous, impulsive.”
“He is?”
“His father proposed to me within three hours of us meeting for the first time. Said it was love at first sight. Such behavior must be genetic.”
“I see.”
“No you don’t,” she said sharply. “But no matter. Can I give you some advice?”
The Condesa’s advice was the last thing Helen wanted, but she was determined to part on good terms. “I would welcome it,” she said quietly.
“I’ve no idea what’s going on between you two, and I don’t want to know either, but I’m not stupid. Protect yourself financially and emotionally. Men bore easily and we women age in the end. He’ll drop you like a stone when he’s had enough, so make sure he buys you plenty of jewelry to see you through your old age.” She lifted her hand and admired the large emerald glinting on her middle finger. “And don’t fall in love with him, whatever you do. Almanzas destroy their lovers given half a chance. Believe me, I know.”
…
Ricardo watched Helen turn the key in the lock of the green door to her flat once more. This would be the last time he’d leave her here to fend for herself. Their impending marriage may be a sham, but he had no intention of allowing her to slip back into the side streets and alleys where feral cats and other unsavory creatures roamed.
He revved the engine as he pulled off. It was immature, but he didn’t care. The noise took his mind off the meeting he was about to have. It was going to be an unpleasant experience, and right now he felt like a child who’d been sent to the headmaster to be punished for something he hadn’t done. Sent by a teacher who’d taken a dislike to him for no good reason. His “head teacher” was Jerardo Capella: his father’s ex business partner and his enemy.
“I have an appointment with your boss.” Ricardo tossed his car keys to the uniformed flunky who’d met him on the steps of an imposing glass-fronted building fenced in by parking restrictions. “It won’t take long. Shift the car if the police take an interest, will you?”
He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment before taking two steps at a time and shoving his way through a rotating glass door. He
stalled the open-mouthed receptionist by saying, “I’m seeing Capella. He’s expecting me. I know where to find him and I’ll take the stairs. I’m faster than the elevator.” Ignoring her protests he was on the third floor within a minute and turning the handle of a heavy wooden door.
“So it’s true,” said a white-haired man sitting behind an enormous desk opposite a panoramic view of the Ibiza harbor. “I had assumed it was some kind of practical joke when my secretary said you wanted to see me.”
“This is no joke.” Ricardo crossed his arms and glowered down at the older man.
Jerardo Cappella slowly lifted his head, his face showing no emotion. “Then what is so important that you had to come here in person when we both have lawyers to communicate for us?”
“Your wager. I’ve come to call time on it. I want my father’s property back.”
A breath of amusement hissed through his nostrils. “The department store, you mean? And those decaying warehouses? I can’t imagine why you’re so desperate to win the bet and get it all back. You hardly need the income these days, do you?”
“You know damn well it was my father’s dying wish that it was reclaimed for the Almanzas. I told you that the day after his funeral, remember? And it was then you refused an offer of millions to hand it over and turned the whole matter into a childish bet, trivializing his last moments. You were laughing in my face before Antonella’s tears were even dry.”
The older man nodded and smiled. “But, my dear Ricardo, the bet was that you wouldn’t be able to abandon your extravagant ways, settle down and wed before your thirtieth birthday. Nothing’s changed. I’ll only consider signing that real estate back once you’re married.”
“You stole it from my father in the first place, you bastard.”
“That’s slander, be careful.” He frowned and passed a pen back and forth between his fingers. “Your dear papa was of sound body and mind when he signed those conveyance papers and they were witnessed by two sets of lawyers.”
“He signed under duress, Capella, and you promised you’d get him out of jail if he did. And then you betrayed him.”
Capella’s fist came down hard on the desk. “Your father betrayed me first, at the same time he betrayed your mother and everyone else who trusted him. He had to pay.”
“So that’s why you set him up as well as taking his assets? Why you got your gangland cronies to frame him for theft, murder, and fraud?”
“More slander?” The older man stood up, a foot shorter than Ricardo, and cracked a reptilian smile. “There’s no proof, and your father was a thief, murderer and fraudster anyway, wasn’t he? He’d just never been caught.”
Ricardo gritted his teeth and stared at the wall for a few seconds to compose himself. He wanted to pulp the man he’d once considered an uncle. “I’m not here to rake all over this again, Capella. Just get the paperwork drawn up, because I’m getting married. I win the bet.”
“But I actually win,” Capella said, bad teeth filling the gap between his thin lips. “The Almanza playboy heir forced into the institution he despises. The misogynist son shackled to a brood mare against his will. You’re settling down… It will make you the most miserable man in Spain.”
“And that will bring you joy?” Ricardo shook his head. “What did I ever do to you to deserve such hatred? There was once a time when you treated me like your own son.”
“That time ended when your father took everything I loved. The sins of your father are being visited upon you, Ricardo. It’s my last act of revenge on him.” His dark eyes clouded over and he looked away. “I will attend your wedding and then it’s over between us. My honor and dignity will be restored. For what it’s worth, your torment will bring me no joy. I did once love you like my own son.”
Chapter Three
Helen braced herself as the private jet bounced a couple of times and the wheels hit the rain-lashed landing strip. Her hands gripped the armrests until it came to a halt and she heard the clunk of Ricardo’s seatbelt being released. She was furious that they were making this whistle-stop journey to the UK at all, but Ricardo had insisted. She’d hoped to keep her parents in blissful ignorance about what she was about to do, but the only way they were going to get married within days was to do it in Gibraltar. And that meant she had to produce her birth certificate, which inconveniently was in an old shoebox somewhere at Primrose Farm.
“Don’t look so worried,” Ricardo said cheerfully. “Your parents are going to love me.”
Helen stared bleakly out of the window. “I hate to agree with you on anything, but I think in this instance you’re right.”
The elation in her parents’ voices was unmistakable when they had chatted over the phone. The financial crisis that had threatened to consume them had been lifted in a matter of days. Years of struggle and worry had been dispelled, and they sounded like different people. Happy. Free. The advance payment of Ricardo’s money had given them their lives back in exchange for three months of sacrifice on her part. But the deception made Helen feel sick to her stomach. She knew the joy she would see on her mother’s face would be like stolen goods, not really hers to share or take any pleasure in. But telling them the truth about where the money had come from and why would only make her feel better.
The truth wasn’t an option, anyway. Ricardo had insisted on this day trip to not only to fetch her birth certificate, but also to give their brief engagement authenticity. It wasn’t a coincidence that a mob of paparazzi had been waiting for them at the airport. Ricardo wanted to make the news.
“Oh God,” Helen muttered as she saw what was on the tarmac. “Isn’t a brand new Aston Martin over the top?”
“Not in the least. You are the fiancée of one of the richest men in Europe now. There are certain standards to be maintained. Enjoy it.”
Thirty minutes later the car roared up a steep hill, and the sun burst through a cloud to reveal an astonishing vista. Golden fields of rapeseed, swathes of mauve stone, and green hedgerows formed a patchwork quilt over the rolling landscape. The dark blue sea on the horizon shimmered and glistened, crashing against rugged coves, and a church steeple spiked through a hamlet of thatched cottages clinging to the edge of a silver river.
Helen breathed out slowly. “Home.”
Ricardo nodded. “It’s beautiful.”
Helen smiled and looked out of the window again, avoiding his eyes and the dark contract they were holding her to. If only this engagement was for real… Shocked by her involuntary thought, she immediately locked the notion away in a mental drawer marked “impossible dreams.” The very idea was madness, crazy with a side order of delusion. She needed to remember that he was no more than a feckless playboy, a man prepared to marry for the sake of a bet. Determined to win at any cost, he had the morals of an alley cat and would go to any lengths to get his own way. She shouldn’t let sexual attraction trick her into thinking there was any depth to the man at all.
It was just before lunchtime when they arrived, which was precisely when Ricardo had insisted they would arrive. His network of flunkies had delivered them stylishly and faultlessly to their destination without the slightest hitch or delay, which was a minor miracle at that time of year. Ricardo even seemed to have control over the holiday traffic that usually clogged up the arterial roads to Brackley Bench. He’d dressed for the occasion too. Gone was the sharp suit, and he was now dressed in head to toe designer country casual. Even in stonewash jeans, a grey roll neck sweater and Ugg Rockvilles he was stunning to look at.
The car clattered over a cattle grid at the entrance to Primrose Farm, and a large bird left a calling card on the Aston’s immaculate windscreen.
“Welcome to the New Forest.” Helen suppressed a giggle as the car came to a stop in the yard. “The wildlife must have seen you coming.”
“This place. It smells like…blue cheese,” Ricardo said, his brow furrowing with distaste.
“Doesn’t it though?” Helen said as she scrambled out of the car. “We
call it silage here. But only the cows eat it.”
Helen’s parents were waiting as they arrived. Broad smiles greeted them on the red brick porch full of old rain boots and kittens. In the herb garden outside, a cockerel puffed out his chest as his hens pecked and fussed around him. Being hugged warmly by both excited parents made her forget her deception for a while, their chatter and animation warmed her inside, but she still avoided eye contact with Ricardo when she introduced him.
“What’s for lunch, Mum?” Helen breezed into the kitchen. She had a pretty good idea from the smell that was coming from the old, blackened range. It had been the heart of the home for generations, providing heat, food, and a gathering place away from the hardships of outdoor life. She recognized the smell of homemade steak pie, and judging by the steamed-up windows they’d be having black cabbage and boiled potatoes too. She couldn’t wait to see how Ricardo would react to his future mother-in-law’s rustic cuisine.
To Helen’s surprise and intense annoyance, Ricardo ingratiated himself with her parents effortlessly. He was a master of seduction on all fronts, smooth, entertaining and completely disarming. She had hoped to glean some satisfaction from his being completely out of place. In fact, she’d been particularly looking forward to watching him swallow every mouthful of her mum’s “signature” pastry. Cooking was not one of Mrs. Marshall’s strengths—unusual for a farmer’s wife, but she’d not killed anyone yet.
“Just like the finest cavolo nero,” Ricardo enthused, piling dark, bitter kale onto his plate. “And organic, even better!”
Her mother glowed. Her father nodded approvingly and opened a big bottle of cider, which was an honor, indeed. Ricardo looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth as he munched his way into her parents’ affections. He was infuriating. And he had the most tempting mouth.
Helen was close to throwing up when her mother declined Ricardo’s second offer to wash up. “No, no!” she trilled. “Why don’t you show Ricardo around, Helen? I hear there’s an egret nesting down on the marsh somewhere. You don’t see many of those.”
The Billionaire Bundle Page 39